


Emotionally Compromised

by peacheo



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek (2009), Star Trek The Wrath of Khan
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Gen, Minor Violence, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-03
Updated: 2014-02-03
Packaged: 2018-01-11 02:17:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1167449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peacheo/pseuds/peacheo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of Khan, Kirk is nothing but a shell of his former self. Drabble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Emotionally Compromised

**Author's Note:**

> I actually enjoy writing about an alcoholic/angsty Kirk and I can't bring myself to feel sorry about it. I might expand on this later, it depends.

To be fair, it wasn’t Kirk’s fault.

The guy had staggered over with his shirt sleeves pushed up and his breath smelling like cheap liquor. _Hey princess_ , he had said with his cocky grin pulled up to his fucking ears. _Remember me_?

_I can’t say I do, twinkle toes_ , Jim responded at the expense of getting another black eye. It was just too damn easy. At least, that’s what he thought right before the guy’s thick knuckles smashed into his face. Kirk’s head snapped back with a sickening crunch and six hours later he woke up behind dumpster with a broken nose and a missing wallet.

So really, it wasn’t his fault at all.

But of course, nobody else saw it that way.

Uhura rolled her eyes. Bones said something along the lines of ‘ugly drunk son of bitch, next time we’re leaving without you’.  Through the bleary-eyed hangover and worst damn headache of his life, it was hard to tell.          

Spock . . . was Spock. After a twenty minute lecture on _self-respect_ , _duty_ , and _responsibility_ , Kirk couldn’t help but wish he was still passed out in a xeno red-light district dumpster.

“Spock,” Jim gritted his teeth, “if you don’t _shut up_ , I’m going to throw up on you.”

“The Doctor has instructed me-”

“I don’t care. Shut. Up.”               

To his surprise, his request was greeted by sweet, sweet silence. The Commander gave him one last unreadable glance before disappearing behind the metal doors, leaving Kirk to wallow about his ‘poor life choices’ and ‘uncanny ability to avoid specific Star Fleet responsibilities’.

But it was true, wasn’t it?

After Khan, the adrenaline had run out. There was adventure, space exploration, all the things he had dreamed of after listening to stories of his father, but it felt like nothing. The excitement had dried up. Living on the edge, knowing that life was delicately cradled in his hands ready to protect, was over.

To fill the emptiness inside him, Kirk had turned to bars and cheap violence.

Bones had known.

He called it an addiction.

Night after night he sat next to Jim’s bedside with a cold wash cloth and tin bowl, cleaning up after his latest expedition. The bitter taste in Jim’s mouth became permanent. He didn’t give time for the scabs on his knuckles to heal. Some nights he was too wasted to give orders and Bones was sent out to inform Spock of his temporary duties. All night the two of them would be shut up in Jim’s room. Replacing his bandages. Holding the bowl while Jim threw up whatever little he consumed. Wiping the sweat from Jim’s brow, as his sheets could hold no more. Other nights Bones would have the undignified job of stripping his friend down to nothing, forcing him into the bathroom, because Jim could barely stand up straight. Several nights he had come in to find Jim covered in vomit.

He was nothing without the grandiosity of being a hero, and the crew was beginning start to notice. The whispers rang in his head like church bells.

Bones had tried his best to shield him, but he always heard. The words bounced off the walls. Wavered through the hallway. Put doubt in his heart.

_Emotionally compromised._

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback and criticism would be appreciated!


End file.
